I'm Working On It
by notebookthief
Summary: Karkat lives on his own, suffering from major depression. John and Dave are roomies living next door. When Karkat's friend from far away asks John to check up on him for him, John feels obligated to help. And then some cute yaois. (Also Terezi is a bitch gomen)
1. Chapter 1

You sit sadly on your bed, hunched over your crossed legs, eyes staring blankly at nothing.  
You're not sure what exactly to think, so you don't think at all. You don't think about the rejections or the loneliness or the piles of homework you never did or the un-done dishes stacked on your counter, or even, for the first time in a while, the knife gleaming in your room, a near constant temptation.  
You can't actually remember the last time you cut. You can point out a scar - a little dot where you dug in, not bothering to drag it across - but you've never really found the appeal in the self-harming gesture. Instead, you beat yourself down with words and thoughts, or if you feel more physical, you burn things. Mostly candles - you don't want to set your apartment on fire - but sometimes matches just to see the little flame, or pieces of paper.  
You don't hear the knock on your front door, or the sound of it being jimmied open. You don't hear him come in. You do hear him call your name, though, and you snap your eyes to him.  
You weren't aware of the tears trickling down your face, but now that you are, you can't bring yourself to care. He walks towards you slowly, treating you like a frightened animal, and you suppose you are in a way.  
He slowly leads you off your bed, but your knees buckle and you fall to the ground. He's too tired, it seems, to carry you, but he helps your weak, limp body walk to his apartment next door.  
He lets you into his bedroom and you sit on his bed, feeling sadness rip through you when he leaves, mumbling under his breath.  
He comes back though, carrying a giant mug of tea. You take a sip, and you're surprised to find that it's your favourite, and there's enough sugar to boot. Your lip wobbles as you try to smile. You can't.  
You curl up on his bed and sip the tea. You're so tired, physically, emotionally, and mentally. He wraps his arm around you, and his body heat and the tea are warming you up; you hadn't realized how cold you were.  
Hours later, when the remains of your tea have all but turned to ice, he curls you both up on the bed and you fall asleep quickly, embracing the blackness as you wonder if this is what death feels like. If it is, you're not so scared of it anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

You wake up late with no one beside you. You've curled up around his pillow unconsciously. You don't bother moving - what's the point?  
A little while later, he comes into the room. He sits on the bed and you have the urge to scoot away from him. He shouldn't be around you - you're disgusting.  
He gently starts to pull hi pillow away. You don't put up a fight. once it's off to the side, he moves to make you sit up. You still don't protest.  
"You need to get clean and eat. i don't want to bring you into the hospital. Do you think you can do this for me?"  
You shrug. You don't really want to move, but if it means you don't have to leave the building, you will.  
He helps you off the bed, and you drop to your hands and knees. You're too weak to stand or walk, so you'll crawl. You have no pride; this isn't humiliating for you.  
it obviously depresses him. When you crane your head up, you see his normally bright blue eyes looking down at you, clouded with sadness and pity. You nearly make a sound of anger. You don't want anyone's pity.  
He sighs defeatedly and leans down, moving to pick you up. You almost hiss; almost.  
He heaves you into his arms and carries you to his bathroom. He sets you down on the counter and stands there awkwardly for a moment.  
After what looks like him giving himself a pep-talk, he takes the bottom of your shirt and starts pulling up. You jerk back, and this time you really do hiss. He puts his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. Slowly, so slowly, he moves towards you and tries again. This time, you let him. You curl up into yourself - you don't like people seeing you body.  
He gasps, those sky-blue eyes going wide and his mouth opening in an 'o'. Your arms have scars from needle injections not made by you, and more scars cover your ribs, stomach and chest. There's a particularly large one on your collarbone from when it broke.  
"Karkat, what happened to you?" he chokes out. You look to the side. You don't like talking about it. You don't really like talking at all, actually. It's been a long time since you've had to.  
Slowly, even slower than before, he takes off your pants, revealing the scars on your legs. You watch his reaction; he looks extremely upset and his face is as white as a ghost.  
Boxers are the only thing keeping you clothed, and while you don't want to bathe with them on, you don't want to be naked around him. He doesn't give you the choice, he yanks them down quickly, not looking at you.  
He turns away quickly, starting to run a bath for you. You bring your knees up to your chest.  
Once its full, and the water stops running, he gently picks you up again and lays you in the tub. he strips off his own shirt and kneels beside the bathtub, cupping his hands under the water and pouring it over your shoulders and back. It's hot, near scalding, but it feels good on your sore body.  
he takes a bar of soap and gently rubs it along your skin, lathering it. He takes his time, and when you look at his face, it shows none of the nervousness you saw earlier; instead, he looks calm and professional. He must do something like this as part of his job.  
It doesn't take very long before your entire body is washed (at one point he did turn pink, and you thought you heard him say 'no homo' under his breath) and he unplugs the bathtub to let it drain. He grabs a big, fluffy blue towel and brings you into a half-standing, half-crouching stance so he can wrap it around you. He brings you into his arms again, carrying you back to his room and setting you on the bed. You curl into yourself.  
"I think I have something you can wear. Just a second." He goes to the dresser shoved against the wall and ruffles through it. He grabs a couple things, biting his lip.  
"I don't think any of my pants will fit you at all, so I'd have to go to your apartment to get some later. But, uh, I found this sweater and socks and underwear."  
you don't understand why he's being so generous and nice to you. You're worthless - you don't deserve this shit. but he does it with a sad, mournful smile nevertheless, even when you skid away from him and hide under the blanket to change.  
The sweater is a dark grey and so soft - not to mention huge on you. It goes at least halfway down your thighs and covers your fingertips. You like it.  
You pull the boxers and socks on, and the boxers nearly fall off. If your hip bones didn't protrude so much, they would have.  
John shrugs. "It'll do." He bites his lip. "I'll be back soon, okay? Just stay here and... don't do anything."  
You know what he's saying behind those words. 'Don't kill yourself' or 'don't cut'. You think about ending your life just to spite his overly-nice stupid ass. You decide against, however tempting it is. You're terrified of death.  
You're starting to doze off when he comes back, carrying a bowl of soup, a cup of something, and a plate of fruits and vegetables. "I didn't know what you liked, so I just picked what I thought'd be best for you."  
You stare at the food. on one hand, you're starving; on the other, you have no appetite and don't want to accept his help.  
After some urging, you pick up the spoon and gulp down some of the soup. After each bite, you're slurping down the soup faster and faster, until you forgo the spoon and take the bowl, pouring the hot liquid down our throat. Some of it dribbles down your chin, \and you wipe your face with your sleeve.  
You scarf down the rest of what he's given you, and when you're finished, you notice he looks pleased. You scowl.k, curling into a ball. You start shaking, and John looks at you in confusion.  
"Hey, 'bert, sorry I'm late. Bro made me help him with his shit. I..."  
Your shaken lessens and instead you stiffen up when you see him standing at the door, your lip curling back. His stupid poker face doesn't waver when his gaze descends upon you, his idiotic shades in place. You hate him.  
Dave fucking Strider.  
He leans against the door. "What's mister douchebag doing here?" he asks casually, nodding his head at you.  
John looks nervous. "Dave, now isn't a very good time -"  
"What is he doing here, John."  
"I really don't want to -"  
"John Egbert, what is that stupid, fuck-faced peasant doing here?" he growls out, voice a  
sharp, jagged piece of ice.  
John fiddles with his hands. "His friend called and asked me to check on him and I did and I wanted to help him because he - he just looked so sad and hopeless and thin and..."  
"We aren't allowed pets. You know that."  
You bristle, and speak up for yourself. "What, and you're so much better, cocksucker?" It's not one of your best insults, but it'll do for now.  
You can feel him glare at you through his shades. He strolls towards you, picking you up by the back of your shirt and lfting you off the bed. He drops you on the ground.  
"Get out."  
You glare at him. "Gladly."  
And really, you would. But your legs aren't working, and you feel dizzy. Luckily for you, John steps in.  
"Dave, he's too weak, he can't walk."  
"then he'll crawl, I guess."  
"Dave!"  
He sighs and rolls his eyes. "Fine. If you wanna help him, help back to his place. I don't want to see him here again."  
John does just that, picking you up bridal style. "We're not done here," he says to Daev. Then he walks out.  
Your apartment is unlocked, making it easy to open, and he brings you to your bedroom. He sighs.  
"I'm really sorry about Dave. He's always bad after he's seen his bro nowadays. I'll talk to him."  
"I don't fucking care," you mumble.  
His face falls a little more. "Of course." He starts to move towards the door, but you grab his sleeve.  
"U-uh... th-thanks... I mean - fuck - Thank you. And fuck you."  
He smiles a little. "You're welcome, Karkat."  
You let go of his sleeve, but he doesn't move for a second. "If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask me, okay?"  
You nod, but you don't really intend to. You hate asking for help. You don't deserve it.  
He leaves quickly after that, and you curl up on your bed, easily falling aleep in the soft sweater.


	3. Chapter 3

Karkat = Be John Egbert  
That's a strange thing to say, but okay...? You weren't Karkat to begin with, but you can definitely be John.  
You go back to your own apartment, emotions conflicting inside of you. You're really angry at Dave, and Karkat...  
Well, you don't know how you feel about him. You'll sort that out later.  
You close the door with a bang. "Dave, get out here!" you call, arms crossed over your chest.  
"'M changin'!' you hear him call back  
"I don't care!"  
You're sure that he huffs at that, even though you can't hear it. He comes out pulling on some sweats.  
"I can't believe you, Dave! Karkat needed someone to help him, and I did. Why did you have to be such a prick about it?"  
You just know that he's rolling his eyes behind his shades. "It's Karkat. How do you expect me to act?"  
"A lot better than that! The poor guy's depressed, Dave, you shouldn't make him feel worse."  
He rubs his face. "Jegus, John, it's not a big deal."  
"Yes it is. Go apologize."  
"Hell no. I ain't apologzing. Whiney douche got what was comin' to him."  
"Dave."  
"Not going to happen."  
"Dave."  
"Nope."  
"Don't make me get the hammer."  
Last time you had threatened this, he still refused. In turn, you smashed one of his turn tables. This time, he takes you seriously.  
"Okay, okay, fine. Jeez. I'll go over tomorrow."  
You nod. "You better."


	4. Chapter 4

You sit on your bed, exhausted. You stayed up all night watching Karkat; you haven't slept in over twenty-four hours.  
You're so confused. All you really know is that you inexplicably want to help Karkat, Dave doesn't want you to (but only because of pettiness, you know he actually likes Karkat - probably), and on some level, you don't want to help Karkat. You also like him more than you should, considering you're only neighbours and you've hardly talked before this.  
You decide that you'll go over tomorrow and check on him. His friend had seemed really concerned on the phone (what was his name? Gamzee?), so you suppose you should really stick by him for a while. See if you can get him a therapist or something.  
You get ready for bed and fall asleep uneasily, tossing and turning all night.


	5. Chapter 5

John == Be Karkat  
You were never John. What the fuck. This makes no sense.  
Whatever.  
You're lying in your bed, shivering. When you pull the blanket over you, you're overheated and uncomfortable. When it's off, you're clammy and cold. You keep it off.  
You stiffen when you smell food. There's someone in your apartment.  
You make your way into the kitchen, still wearing John's sweater, legs wobbling and hand gripping the wall. Your mouth waters against your will as you take in the scent of bacon.  
John is in the kitchen standing at the stove, and you stumble. He looks over in your direction.  
"Good morning Karkat! I was worried I'd have to wake you up. Would you like some eggs and bacon?"  
You bristle. "What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen, fucktard?"  
His smile dips a little. "Making you breakfast. What does it look like?"  
"It looks like you're fucking molesting my stove, kitchen utensils, and sense of smell. It also fucking looks like you broke into my fucking apartment. Again."  
He rolls his eyes cheerfully. "Dave made a copy of your key. I used that." He scrapes eggs off of a pan and into a plate.  
"What the fuck?! Jegus, that stupid little covksucking, assniffing, ratarded fuck!"  
He chuckles. "Good to know you have you're vocabulary back."  
You send a death-glare his way. He doesn't react.  
Eventually he manages to get you calm and forces breakfast down your throat. You all but ignore your eggs and go straight for the bacon. You hear him snort, but pay it no mind.


	6. Chapter 6

It's like that for months.  
You see so much of him. You find yourself getting closer and closer to him; you let him touch you, you talk so much with him, you cook and eat together, you watch movies and play video games. He's turned into some kind of drug to you - better and worse than any pill a therapist or doctor could shove down your throat. You hate him, but...  
But you love him, too.  
And that scares you. That scares you a whole lot. The last person you offered your heart to completely crushed it, and sparked your hatred for Strider-douche.  
You don't want to go through that again.  
So you start distancing yourself, but it's hard and it hurts and your "condition" (as John calls it) gets worse. So you stop that and simply go back to pining.  
But that doesn't work either.  
And every time you go over to his apartment (you're allowed to cross the threshold now, just not stay long), Strider gives you this stupid knowing look and squeezes or pokes John's ass, making him squeak and you glare.  
Another month passes and you're ready to scream in frustration.  
And then she comes back.


	7. Chapter 7

She still has your key. You're cooking with John when she bursts through the door; it's the most fun you've had with him in the past couple of weeks, and there's flour on his nose.  
She's wearing a smart, fitted suit an her trademark red glasses. She grins wickedly as the door falls shut behind her and she saunters in.  
"Karkles!" she squeals, pulling you close and awkwardly kissing you.  
You tense up so much you feel as if you're about to snap. She pulls back after a moment. "You still smell wonderful, and you haven't moved the furniture. How sweet. And who's the other lovely person I sense, hm?"  
You want to tell her that you didn't keep your apartment the same for her, that you and John had been picking out paint colors and were going to rearrange everything. But you can't speak. You can't do anything.  
"Who are you?" John demands, taking to glaring at her. He's all but abandoned the food, an was probably burning it.  
"He hasn't told you?" she purrs. "My, my Karkles, you sure have learned to keep a lid on your adorable self, huh?" She cackles. "Karkitty used to have the biggest crush on me. He didnt know it, but I reciprocated. Broke his heart. Then broke another, cooler one. Turned out he wasn't so cool after all. I'm surprised you don't remember me; maybe it's the suit."  
He looks absolutely pissed, and you know that a pissed John is a bad thing to have on your hands.  
"Terezi Pyrope, at you're service."  
She's ruined everything.  
Her arm goes around your shoulders, and when you don't move away or act repulsed, John gives you this gut-wrenching look that has your insides twisting and heart strings pulled so taught they break.  
"I've made plans for us already, Karkles. And, uh... something for you to wear. You'd look so stupid in those ratty sweaters you're always wearing. I even got it in gray, your favourite color. Come on, let's go."  
She struts to the door, and turns back when she doesn't feel you following her. "Karkat?"  
"My favourite color isn't gray," you say quietly, carefully. She starts.  
"What? Karkat, I-"  
"My favourite color... is blue. Bright, shining, cerulean blue."  
You stare hard at John, who, up until this moment, looked like he was about to lunge at Terezi. You know she won't get it, but don't care. John will (probably).  
And, after a moment, he does. He hawks at you, eyes wide and mouth open in a perfect 'o'. Gog, you want to kiss that mouth.  
"You'll need to find a new date to your pretentious asshole allowed only thing, Pyrope. I'm unavailable." You don't move your eyes, can't break your gaze locked with his. "Permanently."  
She hisses. "You're mistake, Vantas."  
She slams the door on her way out. You're finally able to look away, to drop your head.  
A couple seconds pass. You don't dare look at him. You're scared of what you'll see.  
"Karkat-"  
"Get out."  
He moves towards you, so close you could touch him, you want to touch him -  
"Karkat, please, I just -"  
"I said get out."  
He takes another step towards you. "No."  
And you can't take it. You fist your hands in his shirt and drag him down, crashing your lips together. It's messy and strange and you probably taste like Terezi but you don't care. It takes him a second to kiss back, and it turns your blood to ice.  
But then his hands go around your waist and he crushes you against him. Your hands in his shirt slip up around his neck, allowing you to get closer. The height difference is awkward, so he grabs you and sets you on the counter. The kiss breaks; your legs wrap around his waist, pulling his willing form in, and this time when you kiss it's far better. It's urgent, though; you're both needy, hands clutching at each other and mouths moving together frantically.  
After a long time - minutes, hours, you can't tell - you slow down, calm yourselves, until you break apart fully, panting.  
His expression changes from one of passion and contentedness to confusion, and then horror as he pulls away.  
"K-Karkat, I'm not -"  
"Not a homosexual; yeah I fucking know." You start mumbling. "You don't have to be fucking gay to kiss a guy, there's other fucking sexualities. And you can be straight as fuck and like one or two people of your same fucking gender."  
He stares at you, uncomprehending. You sigh and shrink down, curling in on yourself. "Just... leave."  
You hear him go, hear him open and shut the door. Hot tears stream down your face.  
"Of course you're heartbroken, what did you expect you oblivious bastard-fucker?" you mumble to yourself.  
You drag yourself to your room and curl up on your bed, sobbing yourself to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

You wake up to something being thrown at your head. You bolt up hissing like a cat.  
To Dave fucking Strider.  
He's leaning against your bedroom door, arms crossed over his chest.  
"Don't look at me that way," he says. "I'm here for both of you."  
"What the fuck are you talking about?" you spit.  
"You want Egderp, right?" he asks nonchalantly. You nod hesitantly. "Well I want to help him. Kid was a wreck when he came back last night; nearly destroyed the apartment, passed out, and I'm pretty sure he cried in his sleep. I got the gist of everything through his mumbling. Plus, I'm pretty tired of hearing him go on about 'no homo'."  
You look at him warily. "And what's your miraculous fucking solution?" you ask.  
He smirks. "I have a plan."  
When he tells you, you look at him in horror. "No bloody fucking way. You are not roping me into this sick and twisted -"  
"Dude, it's not like that. Jeez, I hate you too, don't worry."  
You glare at him, but after some persuasion, you agree angrily.  
He drags you into his apartment with for more pleasure than you think he needs and sets you both down on the couch. John isn't there, but you can hear hear him. He's coming out of his room.  
Dave pushes you down on the couch and firmly presses his lips to yours. It's disgusting to you, but he has skill, so you try to focus on that. It's hard, but you manage. You hook one of your legs around his waist and run one of your hands through his soft hair. He jerks, as if you've surprised him, and moans deeply. You hope to God it's for effect.  
You hear something clatter to the ground. "D-Dave? Wha-"  
You summon a sound out of yourself and breathe out Dave's name, trying to sound pleasured and hazy. It doesn't sound convincing to you.  
It obviously does to John.  
Dave is yanked off you by a furious looking John. The dark haired boy starts punching him, and you stare with your mouth gaping for a moment before scrambling off the couch.  
"John, John, stop it, he's your best friend, John stop."  
He does, turning to you with wide, hurt eyes. Then he gets up and goes to his room, door slamming and shaking on its hinges.  
Dave groans. "I should have known I would get punched for that," he muses. You gawk at him.  
"We'll, go after him," he says, shooing you off. "Go get your man."  
You jerk to your feet, mumble a thank you, and make your way to John's room, knocking on the door. You open it after a moment when you get no response.  
"John?" you ask quietly, shame filling your hollow, rough voice. It's dark; you can't see anything.  
You're slammed against the wall, a mouth pressed hard against yours. You squeak.  
He kisses you angrily, holding you down. Even if you wanted him to stop, you wouldn't be able to make him.  
After a few moments, he pulls back. "Don't you ever touch him again," he growls out, eyes blazing blue fire in the darkness. He presses his lips to yours again for a brief moment. "Not while you're with me."  
You're dizzy; you feel almost drunk. "I thought you weren't gay," is all you can manage to say, and you internally smack yourself for it.  
He pauses. "I guess I'm gay for you," he says, and this time when he kisses you it's softer, gentler; the roughness is gone from his touch.  
But it's no less passionate.  
His hands tangle in your hair, stroking your scalp with his thumbs. You purr in the back of your throat, your arms wrapping around his neck, nails digging in where his spine starts. The hard, pinching contact makes John pull your hair; your purr breaks off and turns into a pleasured whimper.  
One of your legs hooks around his waist, and he lifts you up and against the wall, allowing both of your legs to wrap around him. A sound bubbles from your throat again, soft and quick. You don't know what to do; you're too lost in the sensations.  
He's moving you again, stumbling. You're dropped onto the bed, and he's quick to climb on after you, kneeling above you. You wrap yourself around him again, wanting, needing to be closer. He hesitates a little, but then dives into you again, not backing out of his decision.  
His hands slip under your shirt, stroking the skin of your hips. You whine, arching your back, and your shirt is off in seconds. John kisses down your neck, your torso. You whimper and whine, hands running through his hair. You grip onto the locks when he tongues your nipples, your back coming off the bed. He chuckles.  
"You're so sensitive," he says, grinning lopsidedly at you. You flush even more than your were.  
"I've never done this before," you admit. "Asshole."  
"You've never had sex?" He hums, not sounding like he judged you, just curious.  
"Or… any of this," you say breathily.  
He stares at you for a moment before kissing your chest gently. "Okay. Just tell me if you want to stop."  
He moves up to kiss you again, hands sliding under you to trace your back, making you shiver.  
You stay like that for a while. Eventually his shirt comes off, too, and the feel of skin on skin is wonderful.  
You don't know how much time passes. It could have been days for all you care. Eventually your kissing slows and stops altogether. You're still wrapped in John's arms. After another little while, you start crying.  
"What? What's wrong?" he asks.  
"Why the fuck would you do this, I'm disgusting, is this some kind of sick fucking joke?"  
"What? Karkat, what are you -"  
"I'm nothing, why would you lead me on like this, I'm so fucking pathetic -"  
"Karkat, no, that's not it at all!"  
You stare at him for a moment. "Why not."  
"Huh?"  
"Why not? Why isn't that it? Why do you care about me at all? What fantastic fucking thing have I done to make you more of an idiot than you already were?"  
"You're you," he says quietly.  
You nearly spit. "Exactly, dumbass. I'm the biggest mother-ass-fucker there is."  
"You really see yourself that way?" he asks sadly. "You're not, you know. If you were, I wouldn't have stuck around so long."  
And you realize it's been almost a year since that fateful night. And he is still here. He's put up with all your bullshit and yelling and weird analogies and romcoms and self-hatred. He's put up with your dumb nasaly voice and too-bony body and stubbornness and somehow, somehow, he still wants you.  
He truly is an idiot.  
You tell him so.  
He smiles.  
And you both know you're not cured. You haven't been saved from your depression. But with this bright blue light in your life, you think you can manage - you think you might be able to heal.  
You fall asleep together on his bed. When you get up in the morning, you find a cake. Written on it is "Congratulations on the Sex" in red, and "I'm so Proud of you Son" in blue. The both of you nearly flip tables. All the tables.  
You eat it with him for breakfast (even if he barely touches his) and refuse to let Dave have any. He whines about it until you point out that if he ate it, he'd have to partake in a threesome with them. John flushes and chokes and Dave sobers. You don't mention that you and John haven't actually had sex yet.  
It's a pretty good life, you think. You like it.  
For the first time in a long time, you're content.


End file.
